Let It Roll Right of Your Shoulders
by Hinn-Raven
Summary: Companions pieces, missing moments, and deleted scenes from These Twists and Turns of Fate.
1. Shake it Off

**A/N: Even after I finished _These Twists and Turns of Fate_, I kept thinking about the story. Where would it go? What happens next? And so this was born. I hope you guys enjoy it!**

* * *

Stephanie Brown slips out of bed, leaving Cass curled up in the tangled sheets, curled in a ball. Her hair is adorably mussed, falling into her face, and she sleeps peacefully, undisturbed by dreams.

Steph presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to get rid of the images burnt into them. There will be no more sleep tonight, she thinks, staring at the scars on her arms.

She fingers the fabric of her Spoiler costume, where she'd thrown it before collapsing into bed with Cass, both of them bruised, sweaty messes. Her first night as Spoiler since Blackest Night—her first real time as Spoiler since her "death". It shouldn't really be a surprise that the nightmares have come back, harsh and vivid and bloody.

She slips silently through the carpeted hallway of the Manor, feeling self-conscious in her shorts and tank top. The outfit shows off her scars, in a way her normal outfits hide. But patrol has been over for hours now, and the Manor is silent and still.

She pushes open the door to the kitchen, and frees, half guiltily, half fearfully, as she sees Bruce sitting at the table. He looks at her, and she sees a quick flash of something before his eyes shutter, locking away whatever reaction he'd had to seeing her.

Steph swallows, and moves into the kitchen, making sure to keep her breathing steady and to hide the fact that her hands are shaking like jelly. She shouldn't care what Bruce thinks of her, but his approval—or lack thereof—is still important to her.

It's been a week since Steph made up her mind not to run from Bruce any longer. But not running is not the same as approaching, and so this is the first time she's been alone with Bruce since… well, since she was Robin.

A familiar ache flickers in her stomach for those days, despite all the anguish that had made them so bitter at the time. Being Robin, even as Art, had meant the world. Gotham was for Bats and Birds, not for Spoilers. But Steph pushed down the feeling, and instead began to busy herself with the kettle.

"Alfred keeps the good tea behind the flour," Bruce's voice breaks through her reverie. Steph freezes, hand inches away from box of Earl Grey. "It's what he normally serves."

Steph closes her eyes. "Thanks," she says, heading over a few cupboards, to wear Alfred keeps the dry goods. Sure enough, Steph finds several boxes of expensive teas. She selects a simple green teabag, and then closes the doors.

She turns back to the kettle, and then she freezes again—her old mug is there, in Bruce's hands. The mug that Alfred had always served her tea in when she was Robin, when she was first Spoiler, even. It's a simple, harmless mug, a sturdy brown ceramic piece with a dribbled glaze of purple around the rim and the handle. But she hasn't seen it since the Black Mask—she'd assumed it was gone, if she's even thought about it, in the trash or something. But it's there, in Bruce's hands, and he's offering it to her, his face carefully blank.

"It's the same one," he says, when she doesn't make a move, too busy staring at him, clutching the tea bag tightly. "After… afterwards, I packed up your things. I put them with Jason's. I… I couldn't stand to see them. To be reminded."

Something curls in Steph's stomach, but she isn't sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing. "Thanks," she whispers, reaching out and taking it, after a long, painful moment. Bruce looks at her hands as she stretches out her hand, and she wonders if he sees the crooked angle of the fingers on her right hand, where the Black Mask smashed them with a brick, demanding to know the location of the Batcave. In the end, she'd given him one of the spares she'd known about, but she'd been loath to reveal even that, betraying the sliver of trust that Bruce had extended to her.

The mug passes into her hand, and she tries not to break down in tears. She hadn't realized it would be important—that Bruce hadn't thrown out everything she'd touched, that he'd kept it, that it had _meant_ something to him as well as her.

The kettle whistles softly, and Steph pours herself water.

Once the tea is seeped and the bag removed, she turns to face Bruce, feeling stronger with tea in her hands.

She recalls, suddenly, a dream, a snatch of a memory

_"I just wanted to help," she whispers, looking at him. "I didn't mean…"_

_"I know," he says, and he sits, taking her hand—why is she lying down? What a strange dream. She feels as if she is floating, and there is no sensation in the hand that Bruce holds. "I'm sorry, I should have… been more careful."_

_"Was it… was it just a joke?" She asks, her voice small. "Making me Robin?"_

_"__No__." Bruce says, ferociously, and Steph smiles in the dream. "You were my Robin. I failed you. I'm sorry."_

_"I __was__ Robin," Steph feels herself smiling, but the dream is fading already, darkness setting in around the edges. This was a good dream… "Good," she says, before slipping into the inky black._

She sits down across from Bruce, and studies her tea. "When… when I was in the hospital," she began, her voice slow and thoughtful. "I… I hallucinated a lot. Did Leslie tell you that? I saw… I saw _things_. Wish fulfillment mainly—I saw myself as a girl, and I felt safe, and happy." She bit her lip. "But… I remember… there was one part of the dream that was different. It had you in it."

Bruce looks tense. "What… what happened?"

"You said I wasn't a joke," she whispers, and, to her horror, a tear falls onto her hand, wrapped so tightly around her mug that she thinks it might shatter. "You said I was Robin. I thought it was just a dream…"

"No," Bruce says, and she looks up, gaze watery. "No… I… you were my Robin. I… I should have known better, Stephanie."

Steph feels her tears flow freely, and she bends her head again, ducking away from Bruce's stare. "It wasn't a dream," she says, disbelieving. Something warm fills her stomach, and it's not the tea.

"I failed you, Stephanie," Bruce says, and she _hears_ the guilt in his voice, the unsteadiness in his tone. "You deserved so much better. I… I can never make up for what happened; for what I did, and what I didn't do. But I _am_ sorry for how I treated you."

Steph can't speak, her throat is tight with tears. But she smiles thinly at Bruce, and nods, just once.

It's enough.


	2. I'm Not Your Hero

**A/N: Accidently posted this as the second chapter to _These Twists and Turns_, not this fic. Oops. Sorry for everyone who got the notification by mistake. Anyway, here's some Jim Gordon perspective! I love Jim, and I don't write him nearly enough. Also, Birds of Prey! And Gotham Central! **

* * *

Jim Gordon hears about the new Spoiler, and he pauses, his coffee cup halfway to his lips and a frown on his face. Across the room, he sees that Harvey is scowling as he listens to the report.

"No respect for the damn dead," Harvey growls when Jim approaches him. "What right does that girl have to dress up like that? That kid got murdered trying to save the whole fucking city and some newbie just decides to flaunt the name around." Harvey slams his paperwork on top of his desk, scowling.

"Have you talked to Renee?" Jim asks, quietly. "Maybe she knows more about this."

"Like she'd tell us." Renee is sort of a sore point for Harvey—Renee left the force just before Harvey had returned, torn up with grief and guilt over Crispus Allen's death. Jim lost track of her after that—Hub City was a difficult place to keep track of someone in.

But then the Question had come to Gotham, and Jim and Harvey had heard her speak, and there had been no mistaking it. Renee had come home. But she still was distant from Harvey, her old partner, and Harvey was bitter about that—he missed his old friend, who had barely spoken to him since her return. Jim had a bit more luck—the Question _was_ a member of the Birds of Prey, and he'd gone to visit Barbara and stumbled on a meeting often enough.

"Try it," Jim says. "We owe the boy that much."

Jim goes into his office, nodding to Maggie Sawyer as he passes her. He closes the door and the blinds, and slumps in his chair.

From the depths of his desk, he retrieves the file for Arthur Brown Junior.

Three photographs grin up at him from the file—a school portrait, a candid of Spoiler, and a newspaper photographer's prize shot of Robin.

Jim had gone to the funeral. He had read the articles about child-endangerment, and how Batman had no right to send a child out into the streets of Gotham, he had seen the tears on Crystal Brown's face as she buried her son.

He had met Spoiler during No Man's Land—a time so long ago that people outside of Gotham had forgotten it, but it had marked all of the survivors, making sure that they would always remember. Batgirl had risen during that time—his daughter had created a legacy for herself, and had grown into the role of mentor as well as hero. Huntress had softened, switching from vengeance driven vigilantism to protection and heroism. Sarah had died, protecting the children of Gotham from the Joker.

Spoiler had been Batgirl's partner during No Man's Land, translating for her and joking, always eager to please and help. Arthur Brown had been one of Barbara's assistants, sleeping on her couch and guarding the door. The boy's eyes were always surrounded with dark circles, and when asked about his family, he claimed that getting his mother out of Gotham was all that had mattered.

Batman hadn't sent a child out onto the streets of Gotham—Gotham had swallowed this child up, body and soul, demanding everything of him before chewing him up and spitting him out, leaving him dead at the Black Masks's hand.

Jim sighs, and goes to go see his daughter.

* * *

The Clock Tower has a homey feel lately that it had lacked for years, and that brings a smile to Jim's face. His girl deserves that much, and now she has it, even if it isn't the family or the career that Jim had used to wish for her.

A girlfriend who's the ex-wife of a superhero, who happens to be a superhero herself, is one thing. But his daughter's extended family also includes a former Mafia heiress, the world's best fighter, a former police woman, a time travelling pilot from the 1950s, and one of his subordinate's fiancés (not that, officially speaking, he knows about the last one.)

He is very good at ignoring the identities of superheroes. Giving Batman's propensity for dramatics, he has to be.

He knocks on the door, and waits.

The door is opened, and he pauses, surprised that he doesn't recognize the opener. The girl standing on the other side of the door has long blond hair, and is wearing a loosely knit navy sweater over a pair of black jeans. Her eyes are dark blue, and her skin is lightly tanned and peppered with freckles. Something about her is familiar to Jim, but he can't figure it out for the life of him.

"Is Babs in?" He asks the girl, who is openly staring at him. Clearly, she recognizes _him_, meaning she has one up on him.

Then he realizes that this is probably Spoiler—this is the girl he is here to discuss.

"Yeah," the girl's voice is fairly low, but sweet. She grins at him, clearly uncertain. "Uh, follow me?"

Jim follows her into the tower. Cassandra is sprawled on the couch, playing a video game with Helena, and they seem to find the whole thing hilarious, judging on their commentary about the bad assassination strategies and historical inaccuracies.

Renee is talking to Babs, and she smiles at him when she sees his approach.

"Commissioner," she says, and Jim misses seeing her around the office every day, even if he knew it was probably for the best.

"Renee, I've told you, unless you're taking your job back, it's Jim," he smiles and shakes her hand, clasping her firmly on the shoulder.

Renee laughs, and grabs the blond girl. "C'mon, Steph. Let's go make sure our girls don't kill each other." The girl—Steph—laughs, tossing her hair, and heads towards the couches, where she pecks Cassandra on the cheek before sitting next to her.

"Hi Dad," Babs says, "Want to talk in private, or we good out here?"

"Private's probably a good idea," Jim replies, his eyes lingering on Steph.

They go into Babs's console room—a maze of computers and hard drives, with a bulletin board with dozens of USB drives hanging from pins.

"Is this about Spoiler?" Babs asks, after Jim sits down in the swivel chair.

"Yes," Jim says. There is no point in beating around the bush, after all. They know each other too well.

"Don't worry about it," Babs says. "It's… it's not what you think."

"So it's not a girl who doesn't know what she's doing taking a costume from a boy who died trying to save the city?" Jim raises an eyebrow.

"No. It's not that at all. Stephanie Brown knows _exactly_ what she's doing, and she's not stealing anything from anyone, dead or alive."

"_Brown_?"

"Yes."

Jim massages his temples. "Is this another weird superhero thing?" He asks, plaintively. His life used to be _simple_.

"Sort of. It's a bit more complicated than that."

"Does Crystal know?"

"Yes."

Jim sighs, shoving aside his concerns. He doesn't understand, not really, but he trusts Babs—she might lie to him, lie to him frequently and well enough that it makes him go over everything she ever told him as a child, but not about this.

He leaves the console room, and he sees Steph again, throwing her arms in the air to cheer for the video game.

Jim freezes, seeing the familiar web of scars on her arms.

He had seen the pictures of Arthur Brown's autopsy—when the boy had been ousted as Robin postmortem, they had been leaked as well. Black Mask had done a number on the boy.

And the exact scar pattern was there, on the girl's arms.

Jim crosses the room, and touches Stephanie on the shoulder.

"Good luck out there, girl," he says to her, voice rough, and he smiles at her.

He goes back to the office, opens his private copy of the file again, and quietly crosses out all of the "hims" and "hes" as he drinks his coffee.


	3. In Hopes You'll Fit Right into Me

"We should… go out. On a date," Cass says, one night after she meets Steph after her classes. Steph looks at her, eyes wide.

"Wait, really?"

Cass nods, determined. Her eyes are steely—Steph wonders which of Cass's brothers she should be blaming for this. "Babs has made reservation."

"Where?" Steph blurts, confused. She's never been on a real date—with Tim it had been abandoned playgrounds and rooftops, stolen kisses in the dark and sneaking through his window. She had assumed it would be the same with Cass—kisses on the piano bench and rooftop tag had been what Steph had seen since they started dating.

It has been five months since they have started dating—three weeks since Steph has returned to the streets as Spoiler, ten days since Steph finally had that long-overdue conversation with Bruce. Five months, and things had been going well.

Cass tells her the name of a restaurant, and Steph commits it to memory, and agrees to meet Cass there at six the next night.

She then runs to Dinah, Helena, Zinda and Renee for help.

"You poor dear," Dinah says once they all stop laughing at her panic. "Let's get you sorted."

Dinah takes her shopping, leading her to a boutique that is far beyond Steph's usual budget. Dinah waves her away when Steph tries to protest, proclaiming she owes Steph several birthdays and holidays.

"Don't you want something a bit more revealing?" Dinah asks after examining the long-sleeved, full length piece Steph is eying, holding up what Steph can only describe as a little sparkly black tube of cloth.

Steph shakes her head quickly. "My… my scars," she mutters, ducking her head, flushing with shame. Her arms are webbed with marks, although they're not as bad as her stomach, which is covered in crisscrossing scars. Her chest is better—the top surgery also cleared up some of the scar tissue—and her legs are in relatively good shape, but Steph can't stand exposing her arms. The one on her neck, left from the start of the War Games, is bad enough—she usually hides it with high necks or large necklaces, copious amounts of cover-up and foundation if she can't avoid it.

"_Ah_," Dinah says, and after that Steph is quickly set up with a beautiful purple dress with long, flowing sleeves that ends just below her knees.

"Jewelry!" Helena declares when Steph returns, burdened down with the heavy black garment bag.

"Shoes!" Zinda adds, a gleam in her eyes.

Black flats with silver bows on the tips are purchased, which Zinda swears are wearable in a fight, and a silver rope necklace that probably is imbedded with a tracking device, knowing Helena. Steph fills her ears with all of her silver hoops, and presents herself to the Birds. They know better than to ask her why she isn't wearing any bracelets

Renee co-opts Steph after that, quickly applying makeup with input from Helena and Dinah. Steph's lips are coated with pale pink, her eyes are surrounded with black eyeliner, and her face is smothered with concealer.

"There you go!" Renee says, grinning widely.

"I could have done that myself," Steph squirms slightly, looking in the mirror. Renee clearly knows what she's doing, which is a comfort. Steph looks beautiful—she's passing really well tonight, which is a layer of reassurance and comfort amongst everything else tonight.

"It's your first date," Helena grins at her, twisting her hair into an elaborate French braid. "What kind of aunts would we be if we let you go off without any assistance?"

Steph feels her stomach flutter and she blushes at the honorific. The Birds of Prey have well and truly brought her under their wing, which long ago would have seemed like nothing but a distant fantasy. "What about Cass?" She asks, hoping it hides her pleasure and embarrassment.

"Alfred and Babs had dibs," Dinah says, grinning widely. "Now, c'mon, Zinda's driving."

Zinda's car of the night is a rather subdued vintage black Mercedes—probably stolen from Bruce's garage, like most of the cars Zinda drives. Usually, Zinda prefers showier, more colorful pieces, but Steph is grateful for the more subdued choice of vehicle. Zinda drives Steph to the restaurant, and presses a black clutch purse into Steph's hands when Steph gets ready to get out. "Just as a precaution!" Zinda grins.

"Please tell me there's not a gun in here," Steph mutters, dreading what Zinda would feel was a precaution.

"Nah, wouldn't do that to you," Zinda grins widely, clearly enjoying herself. Steph peers inside—instead of a gun, there's three different batarangs and a can of mace. She sighs and exits the car.

Cass is waiting for her outside the door, and Steph's breath catches in her throat.

Cass is wearing a red dress patterned with small black flowers that covers only her shoulders, not her arms. A black belt is cinched around her waist, and the skirt ends just above her knees. Cass's scarred arms are open for all the world to see, and Steph felt a flush of shame as she remembers that although she is scarred, she will never be as scarred as Cass, who isn't ashamed of her tapestry of marks.

Cass wears small black heels, and small golden hoops in her ears. Around her bicep is a golden bracelet set with black stones, and there are bangles around her wrists. Cass's makeup is impeccable, her lips painted dark red, and her hair has been carefully curled and primped, falling around her face in soft waves.

Steph stares at Cass, mesmerized. "You look…" Steph stutters, lost for words.

Cass grins at Steph, taking her hand. "C'mon," Cass says, leading Steph into the restaurant.

The restaurant is quite possibly the fanciest place that Steph has ever been in. They're led to the nicest seats in the house, and the waiters fall over themselves to impress "Ms. Wayne". There are only about six entries on the menu, all written in French, and Cass orders for them without even needing to look at the menu, seeming relaxed and at home.

"You go here often?" Steph asks, looking around. The table-cloth is soft linen, and she's pretty sure the silverware is actually silver. The chandeliers are crystal, and there's beautiful candles on the table. Cass seems oddly at home here, amongst the splendor and wealth. Steph doesn't fit here—she sticks out like a sore thumb, even if she's oddly awed by it all.

"No. Once, with Bruce. Right after the adoption." Cass fiddles with her bangles, nervous. "He told me what to say." She grinned sheepishly.

Steph covers her mouth with her hand to smother her giggles. "Was this his idea?"

"No. Jason's," Cass says, ducking her head. "He says… he thinks you'll like it. Make you feel special."

Steph's heart swells slightly. "Oh," she says, blushing slightly.

Cass grins at her.

The food is excellent, even if Steph is pretty sure someone took a picture of them to sell to the paparazzi later. They laugh and they talk about their days, and for desert there is chocolate cake that the waiters set on fire. Cass pays with one of Bruce's credit cards (whether it's one that Bruce gave her or one that she stole from his pocket is a mystery to Steph, but she doesn't protest, given that she couldn't afford a glass of water in the establishment), and they walk to the door arm in arm.

"We can call Alfred to pick us up," Steph says, looking outside. It has started to rain heavily, the skies having moved from slightly overcast to ominous grey while they ate.

Cass produces two umbrellas from her purse, smiling widely. "Nah," she says, and Steph has to laugh, accepting one of the umbrellas.

They run through the slippery streets, laughing. They hold their umbrellas up high, protecting themselves from the onslaught of rain. Cass holds Steph's hand tightly as they jump over puddles. Her hand is warm, and Steph feels almost giddy as they race forward, in their fancy dresses and nice shoes.

The rain is pouring now, driving the rest of Gotham inside. The rain scrubs the city clean, pushing the dirt and the grime away, leaving the city feeling magically empty and oddly clean. The air is chilly, but not yet cold, and the road gleams brightly with the reflection of the car headlights. The drivers don't seem to notice the two girls, or perhaps they just don't care, and Steph feels on top of the world.

Cass's dress is now speckled with darker spots, and Steph thinks she looks _beautiful_, perhaps even more-so than she had in the restaurant, with her makeup and hair done just-so instead of smudged slightly and frizzy because of the rain. Steph stops in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to face Cass.

They tilt their umbrellas together, forming a larger safe-zone for them to stand in. The rain pours down on all sides like a waterfall, trapping them in and encircling them.

Steph leans down and kisses Cass, eager and wanting and soft. Cass stands up on tiptoes to kiss her back, nose bumping against Steph's softly as she tilts her head and closes her eyes.

"Your place or mine?" Steph mutters when they pull apart, resting her forehead against Cass's. The faint perfume that Cass wears wafts over her, and it takes a great deal of effort to avoid kissing Cass again before her girlfriend has the chance to answer.

They had never done anything like this before, never asked for more than kisses or holding hands—Cass has been hesitant, and Steph isn't supposed to for a while after her vaginoplasty anyways. But tonight things are right, and they are both done waiting.

"Mine's closer," Cass mutters, a small agreement and confirmation, the fingers of her left hand—her right is busy holding the umbrella in place—wrapped around Steph's shoulder to support herself as she teeters on her toes.

Kissing Tim was nothing like kissing Cass, Steph thinks wildly as they kiss again. Kissing Cass is honest and raw, pleading and needing, safe and assuring. They break apart again and Steph takes Cass's hand and they run towards her little house, laughs bursting free of their mouths as they go at the sheer absurdity of it all.

The door falls open, and they fall on each other again, mouths meeting. They throw aside their umbrellas, uncaring about where they land, before Cass leaps at Steph, her legs wrapping around Steph's torso. Steph staggers for a second before adjusting, wrapping her arms around Cass and beginning to kiss Cass frantically.

They make it to the bedroom—how, Steph couldn't exactly say, but she's pretty sure they nearly fall into the practice pit before they make it. They fall onto Cass's mattress, the bedding unmade and messy. There was a period, back when Steph first knew Cass, when Cass had slept on a mattress in the practice area. Now the bedroom is lived in, and lived in well—laundry is hanging out of the basket, family photos are pinned onto the wall, newspaper articles taped to the door. Cass has never been tidy, and she's had a busy few weeks, so Steph can understand why her room is in this state, but it's so ridiculously _Cass_ that Steph can't help but laugh.

Cass grins at Steph and pounces on her, pinning her in place as she scatters kisses all over Steph's skin.

"_Cass_," Steph chokes out, her breath fast and ragged, Cass's lips on her throat, and then the landline goes off. They both freeze, and lunge for their cell phones at the same time, knowing that the only reason the landline is ringing is that they had been ignoring their cells. Sure enough, Steph has five missed calls from Babs and several texts from Harper and her mother, enquiring about their status. She assumes Cass is in the same situation.

She quickly sends off reassurances, while Cass informs Babs that they're fine, she doesn't need to send Helena, _bye_.

**SENT TEXT MESSAGE**

**to: Harper**

**i don't think i'll be coming home tonight and if i do it'll be late so don't wait up**

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE**

**from: Harper**

**date went well then? ****J**** be safe!**

**SENT TEXT MESSAGE**

**to: Harper**

**i hate you so much right now.**

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE**

**from: Harper**

**what did I do?**

**SENT TEXT MESSAGE**

**to: Harper**

**you know Babs reads these things right?**

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE**

**From: Harper**

**oops**

They throw their phones down and silent them, before turning to each other, their legs dangling off the edge of Cass's bed. Now, with a moment to think instead of being caught up in the heat of each other, they're both more reluctant to start up again, afraid and awkward. The tension is strangling, and Steph curses Babs for ruining the moment. She's pretty sure there's the beginnings of hickeys all over her neck and collarbone.

Steph places her hand on Cass's leg, and leans in, closing her mouth over Cass's briefly. Cass places her hand at the back of Steph's neck, careful and soft, while Steph shifts so she's kneeling on the bed, facing Cass, cradling Cass's face in her hands.

"I love you," Steph whispers, centimeters away from Cass's mouth.

"I love you too," Cass says, before kissing Steph again, longer and sweeter, more gently than before.

Steph grins at Cass, mischief in her eyes. "I think," she says, feigning a shiver, wrapping her arms around herself. "We need to get out of these wet clothes, don't you?"

Cass tilts her head, looking at her. Then it hits her. _Oh_. She smirks. "Yes," she says.


	4. You Can't Carry it With You

Cass dreams sometimes.

She dreams of burying Steph again. She dreams of a broken and bloody form, carried tightly in her arms as she races towards safety, towards Leslie, with Steph's life slipping away and nothing she can do about it.

She wakes up, and she buries her face in Steph's long, beautiful hair, that smells like apples and tries to hide the fact from Steph, who would just blame herself for Cass's fears.

Cass understands, most days, why Steph left. Why Steph couldn't trust _anyone_—coincidences and misjudgments and micro-aggressions and bad decisions spiraling and combining with everything else, but it still _hurts_ that Steph hadn't trusted her enough with this. With the light in her eyes when Cass says her real name, the way she smiles when she looks in the mirror now. The laugh that bubbles up every time Cass brushes her fingers along Steph's scarred side.

Cass dreams of opening the door, that fateful day, but instead of Steph, smiling and _alive_, it's the dead version of Steph from the autopsy photos—dull eyes, scarred and bloodied, with an autopsy scar like Jason's peeping out from beneath her clothes, from beneath the beautiful blouses that she likes to wear.

She wakes up and she rolls over, clutching at Steph's sleeping form if she's there, or running to call her if she isn't. Steph always answers—no matter how late, or how little sleep she's had, she answers. Sleep blurs her words, turning her cheerful "_Hello_," to a soft, "_'lo_?" And Cass breathes easier, and apologizes, and they both go back to sleep. Steph never asks for an explanation, never questions these calls.

She dreams of being exhausted and beaten, sleeping on Babs' couch, listening to the crackling noise of the radio, and hearing the horrible, awful words.

_"We evacuated. But… Barbara… Art crashed in the helicopter. He's dead."_

The words seem to drown her, the terrible, awful _words_, words that she can't tell are lies because Leslie is hiding behind the distance and the radio, and she wakes up with tears streaming down her face and the sheets clutched tightly in her fists. She leaves Steph sleeping when that dream happens, and runs to the gym and beats punching bags until her knuckles are bloody and sand is pouring out into the floor.

She dreams of other things too—her mother, the Lazarus Pit, her victim, her father—but those are different. Cass might hug Steph tightly after one of those nightmares, but it isn't a need, and she might go the gym to blow off steam, but there isn't a burning desire to get _away_, to run as fast as she can and never stop.

Steph dreams too, screaming nightmares and tossing nightmares and nightmares that cause her to cling to Cass and nightmares that make Steph slip out in the night to go for a run. Steph can't stand treadmills, she needs to feel as if she's moving _away_, and Cass tries not to panic whenever she sees Steph's shoes missing from their normal spot, because she _knows_ Steph can look after herself, that she's stronger than ever, but the fact that she's gone is still awful, and Cass can't help but wonder, sometimes, if Steph will come back.

She does, she always does. She comes back, sweaty and gross and laughing, full of stories about what she has seen or done, and sometimes she has coffee or donuts or bagels, or whatever other food she's found that tickled her fancy at that time.

Cass tries the different things Steph brings back to drink, and finds that she likes earl grey tea and that she adores chocolate donuts. Steph likes plain bagels with veggie cream cheese and mint tea and Frappuccinos.

They eat at the kitchen table, reading newspapers and playing with their phones, talking about patrol and about their families and Steph's studies and Cass's ASL classes.

They move in together slowly, drawers slowly filling with clothes and weapons and costumes materializing in the Cave.

One day Jason and Tim show up, and help them move a piano, a beautiful grand piano made out of honey oak that Cass and Alfred had found in the depths of the Manor and had restored as a birthday present for Steph, they move it into Cass's place, and just like that, Steph starts to change her addresses on official forms, and Babs starts to only call one of them when she needs both of them, and they both start calling the place "home".

Steph's clothes fill the closet, bright colors and soft fabrics and impractical heels and beautiful jewelry. Cass steals them sometimes, even though they don't fit, and Steph always laughs when she sees Cass wearing her clothes, which makes it worth it, even though they're always too large. Steph retaliates by stealing her earrings, even though Cass only has a single hole in each ear while Steph has four in her right ear and three in her left.

The nightmares continue, and, slowly, softly, afraid that they will scare the other, they begin to talk about them.

Steph talks about Black Mask, about wrong pronouns and wrong bodies and about hatred and loneliness and a walled off cave and ignored messages. Cass talks about Lazarus Pits and graves, about her hands covered with blood and betrayal. They wrap themselves around each other, trying to fix what seems to be broken beyond repair, and sometimes, Cass thinks, that it might actually be working.

Sometimes, Cass dreams.

She dreams of Steph's laugh, deep and musical and wonderful. She dreams of waking up beside her, limbs tangled and bedroom a mess, weapons scattered over the counters and thrown into the corners, of earl grey so hot that it burns her mouth and donuts so sweet that her eyes water. She dreams of early morning runs and sparring matches in the pit, of the glint of gold in Steph's ears and the warmth of her body pressed up against hers.

And she wakes up and she buries her face in Steph's long golden hair and presses kisses against her neck and Steph holds her close and doesn't let go or leave.

And Cass thinks that's all that she really needs.


	5. And I Don't Really Care if Nobody Else B

Being Spoiler again is nothing like Steph ever dreamed it would be. It's not just a breath of fresh air or a touch of excitement—it's electric, it's beautiful, it's _perfect_. The person looking back at her is both Spoiler and a girl, and that makes it absolutely wonderful, it makes her bounce on her toes and grin from ear to ear, laughing as she looks at herself, feeling vain but not caring as she drinks in the sight of her looking the way she should have looked all those years ago when she had started out.

The armor is a deep shade of purple, sturdy and well-shaped. She knows it's stronger than what many of the others are wearing, and Steph is torn between insulted that Babs thinks she needs coddling and warmth at the concern.

The cloak itself is thick and warm and beautiful, the hood throwing her face into shadow, concealing the fact that she wears a full-face mask still. Her hair is carefully pulled into a bun, held in place with a lot of hair spray and even more pins, and Steph extends her hands out, showing off the rest of her outfit so that she can see it fully in the mirror. Black gauntlets, black combat boots, and a utility belt full of as many gadgets as she had once used as Robin. She looks like a hero. She looks like Spoiler.

It's hard to believe that she had started out with a costume that she had sewn herself, arguing with herself about whether she was even doing the right thing. The armor and the cloth is so far away from her original creation that it's hard to believe that they are even based off the same design.

When she'd started, she'd thought about making Spoiler a girl, about using Spoiler as an escape from what had seemed to be the crushing reality. In the mirror, she sees exactly what she would have adored to see at that time, and it's both exhilarating and crushing as she thinks (again) that she could have had this years ago, if only she had been braver.

It feels so _right_, she wants to sing.

Cass sits behind her on the bed, fully dressed as Batgirl. Steph is standing in front of the mirrored closet doors that Alfred had installed in Cass's bedroom years ago. Cass watches Steph, knees drawn up to her chest as she looks at her, and Steph is filled with adoration for her girlfriend, who has put up with her primping for much longer than Steph had initially expected.

Steph turns towards her, laughing, and Cass lunges forward and wraps her arms around Steph in a tight, wonderful hug. Steph hugs her back, thinking about how lucky she is, that she gets to do this at will now.

"Missed you," Cass whispers, and Steph closes her eyes and tries not to cry, because she knows what Cass means.

They go down to the Batcave, which is empty. There is no ceremony to stand on—the others are already out in the field, doing their jobs. Steph and Cass are late, Steph fussing over the details of her costume, slowing them down. Cass doesn't seem to mind though.

Steph takes the communicator and places it in her ear, closing her eyes and listening to the familiar banter and chatter. Tim and Jason argue, while Dick tries to coax Damian into admitting that he enjoys flying. Helena and Renee flirt relentlessly as they chase down their target, while the Birds of Prey snark at each other as they fly home from their mission. Selina is on tonight as well, making comments clearly designed to rile up Bruce, who responds only in grunts and short sentences.

Steph's missed this, missed this so much that she almost can't breathe, her throat is so tight.

Cass slips her hand in hers. "You'll be fine," Cass says, grinning.

Steph nods, once, not trusting her voice, and then turns to the wall of vehicles. "What do you want to take?" She spreads out her other hand, trying to encompass the entire selection of cars, motorcycles, and planes, all themed, of course.

Cass grins at her, and leads her behind one of the larger, tank-like Batmobiles. Hiding in its shadow are two bikes, and Steph freezes at the sight of them, awe-struck.

They are meant for her and Cass—they can't be for anyone else. One is black with golden trimmings, a bat gleaming on the headlights, sleek and fast and simple. The other is purple with black trimmings, larger and with weapons, more armored and secure than fast. They're beautiful and well-built and fast and _new_.

"Dick says, 'Welcome back,'" Cass tells her, and Steph wants to laugh with joy, because Dick Grayson doesn't hate her, like she was afraid he had.

Sometimes, Steph wonders how her heart hasn't burst since her return, she has been so filled with joy.

"Race you!" She grins, leaping onto the purple motorcycle, revving the engine as she goes.

"You'll lose!" Cass retorts, the familiar words sparking the air between them even as Cass starts her own bike. Steph laughs, and they race off into the night, the wind blowing back Steph's hood and flapping Cass's cape like a flag behind them.

The road from Wayne Manor is one that Steph had travelled hundreds of times, but it seems shorter this time, for soon they're in the city.

She's been living in Gotham since her return from Thailand, with the exception of her brief flight from Bruce, but standing in an alley, back to back with Cass, fighting low-level mobsters, fists swinging and adrenaline rushing; the shadows long and the night breeze cold, she knows that she's only been living in a part of it.

She and Cass fight together better than ever; their moves are synchronized, perfectly in line. They dance around each other, covering the other's back and cooperating in a way that Steph, back when she had called herself Art, would never have believed.

The training and hard work is all finally paying off; all of the grueling sessions with Dinah, all the spars with Cass, all the drills run by Babs have created this moment. Steph is _good_ at what she does, and it feels so right.

Spoiler and Batgirl are together again. All is as it should be.

She grabs the fire escape ladder and hauls herself up to the roof.

She looks out over Gotham. She hears the others talking in her ear, and sees Cass standing beside her, ratty cape fluttering in the wind.

Steph pulls off her mask, and then carefully pries just enough of Cass's cowl so that she can see Cass's lips.

She kisses her and Cass wraps her arms around her neck, standing on tiptoe to be able to reach, and Steph wants to laugh, because Cass is so _short_.

They break apart, and sit down, replacing their masks. Their legs dangle over the side of the building, and they stare out over the skyline, holding hands and just… _being_.

After a few minutes, Steph nudges her girlfriend, smiling widely even though she knows that Cass can't see her face under the mask. "Tag. You're it." Then she drops off the roof, feeling the wind rushing around her, tucking herself so that she lands correctly. She hears Cass shout in protest, and the tell-tale sound of the wind showing that her girlfriend is following her down.

She runs, and Cass chases her, and Steph laughs, giddy and breathless and in love.


End file.
